Interior, with Various Emergencies

We pick up what's fallen
           and brush off the debris.
What can it give us, these 
          brown things shed by the trees, 
that barely rattle in their pods? 

In the emergency room, 
         the woman in a flowered 
duster moaned and screamed  
         as the syringe drew up a sample
of her blood. The man with a shirt

piled around his neck like a scarf
         drowsed in a wheelchair. I can't
remember who was in the car
       accident, and who was having
spells of vertigo. The screaming

woman walked outside to the lobby
       in her bare feet; her companions
got her a soda and a bag of Doritos 
      from the vending machine.
The other man's soft white belly

 rose and fell, rose and fell. 
       We kept our own quiet clocks
as the afternoon slanted over
       the awnings. Cooling air,
night far from fallen.


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